


plastic taste

by rusticlace



Series: fairylust; nct experimental!fics [1]
Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Additional Warnings Apply, Ambiguous Relationships, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Sexuality Crisis, WINKUN, slight depression
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-15
Updated: 2019-08-04
Packaged: 2019-09-18 16:28:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16998507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rusticlace/pseuds/rusticlace
Summary: model student kun and bad boy sicheng fall in love under undesirable circumstances, and kun must learn that not all first loves come with a happily ever after or come to a tragic end.some of them simply come to a standstill.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> basically, the re-written and gay version to plastic taste.  
> honestly, i wrote this after reading simon vs the homo sapiens agenda and felt a great sense of injustice if i didn't write this out.
> 
> plastic taste's [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5oA0OuQH9I3TasV1jyAIRG)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> kun and sicheng become fast friends, but kun falls hard and he falls fast.
> 
> sicheng doesn't work that way.

 

 

❝  _WE WERE SIPPING ON EMOTIONS, SMOKING AND INHALING EVERY MOMENT_ ❞ 

 

 

Small smile, hidden—he sees it as clear as day, wonders why no one else notices. It's just like everyone to buy into Dong Sicheng's cheaply constructed act of gummy smiles and deep dimples. It's an unscrupulous facade, Kun thinks. Maybe they have never seen Sicheng brooding in the detention room, throwing his endless legs onto the table, leaning back into the plastic chair, arms crossed. It was as if the whole world owed him a great favor that piqued his displeasure.

In that small dusty room, he has cold eyes and an indignant frown.

Sicheng is not who they think he is.

Qian Kun finds the younger to be terribly fake—he smiles even if he doesn't mean to. When he graces the school corridors with his flowering presence, the beam on his face is broad. but what they don't see is how the corner of his lips quiver when he turns away from their sight—a mere show of popularity and status, those with great influence shouldn't be seen by their followers as indispensable.

People are like that, always so unperceptive, choosing to believe in the smaller picture they are presented with.

Kun  _scoffs._

High school is a fucking disgrace: A place where education is disregarded, a place of popularity contests and unhealthy morals. A brick building that leashes the ambition of children and groom them into stoic adults, strips dreams from kids like Sicheng and leave their soul angry, filled with a sense of injustice, a sense of discontent with the type of people they used to be.

However, in that small room, Kun stares back at Sicheng with his bright hazel eyes and sees through his every masquerade. It happens on the hottest day of summer almost three months ago, Sicheng is the new transfer student from China that Yuta wouldn't seem to shut up about. And Kun immediately understands why the younger boy has garnered the students' attention so quickly when he is granted a (rather unpleasant) encounter with him.

Dong Sicheng is pretty, with a sharp jaw, a small, carefully crafted nose and an intoxicating pair of hyacinth eyes. At that time, his lips were lightly tinted with gloss, falling apart slightly when he had been eyeing Kun as the older scribbled his offense down furiously on a pink slip: _Eating by the corridors._

The fucking corridors.

Afterwards Dong fucking Sicheng had the effrontery to smirk at him. Kun will never forget the thought that follows after, which went a little like ' _that sly brat_ '.

But that was it. Qian Kun observes from a distance, never once opening his mouth to let his thoughts on the younger slip. He knows the game Sicheng plays, has picked up on it the moment he set foot into the detention room the older watches over. There's something in the younger's eyes (just like his contacts, a brief taste of plastic) that gives it away.

The truth behind the younger hangs there like parchment, waiting to be torn through: There are broken shards of glass everywhere, and in the midst of all this breakage, a little boy frantically attempts to piece every thing back together. It reminds Kun of a little child sitting all alone in his room, trying to work a thousand pieces of puzzles together with his uncoordinated, tiny hands. There is struggle and frustration, but Kun only watches from a distance, just as he watches Sicheng from a distance.

The latter never shies away from the intensity of his gaze, Sicheng scowls instead.

Because Qian Kun makes him feel inferior with his baseless judgement; threatens the throne in which the younger sits above all—he knows too much for Sicheng's own reputation.

There are some things that are better left unsaid, like how he has discovered more to Dong Sicheng than he has ever realized.

 

 

"If you keep up with this, you'll be out of school in no time. " Present day Kun looks dead into Sicheng's eyes (clearly because he doesn't need the younger to be dropping out any time soon). All the latter can muster up is an unbothered scorn, snatching the bright pink slip that the older has signed out of his hand. The abrupt movement leaves him feeling dreadful, and he notes how the bruises on his knuckles have significantly darkened with time. It stings like a bitch.

Sicheng hopes the guy he cornered against the lockers this morning spots a few bruises on his face 'cause he sure as hell should be worth the injuries on his hand then.

When he's halfway out of the door, Qian Kun rushes though his brain like a sudden hit of adrenaline. It fuels his tired mind, and he's turning around just to admire Kun for a mere second (as if he hasn't been doing so since the moment he stepped into the room). Qian Kun looks too good to resist, the buttons of his uniform are popped to reveal his collarbone, and his strawberry blonde hair is styled in a way that makes Sicheng want to eat him up:

"You sure have a pretty mouth to go with your pretty face. "

Kun makes a small noise of protest, eyes glaring his way.

It's not a lie, there's no bad intentions; he's been a bad liar all this time—he walks out of the detention room with his stupidly tight black ripped jeans and his button-down tucked out. His dark hair dances with his every step, his smile is bright, dimples on show. So Sicheng wears those drop earrings that the school doesn't allow for, but it doesn't concern him—he is king of this world and they all look up to him.

Qian Kun doesn't matter.

After all, when he steps out of that cramped room, he becomes Dong Sicheng again, popular kid, pretty face, someone to befriend but never to step on. He has a show to put up for his awaiting audience, and Kun doesn't seem to be part of it.

Back in the detention room, Kun has his phone placed on the desk where he's sitting at, Cardi B's 'I Like It' on repeat.

He needs to process all that's working itself into his head, and what's better than listening to  _rap_  to calm his nerves.

That's right. _Absolutely nothing_.

 

 

* * *

 

 

"Qian Kun, follow me to somewhere. "

Instead of answering to his request, Kun stares straight into the grey irises that Sicheng usually hid behind his blue contact lenses.

"You have grey eyes, " the older states as-a-matter-of-fact. He's very much fascinated by the highlight of silver in Sicheng's eyes under the dirty light of the classroom, and the younger can't really take it to heart that Kun has completely tuned out his request in favor of staring (somewhat) straight into his soul in an insanely adorable manner. Sicheng swore it had to be illegal, the way Kun's gaze melded right into his own.

"Alright, hyung, can we please—wait! You don't have detention duty today right? " He inquires thoughtfully, remembering that even though he may be free of those dreadful pink slips, Kun may still be occupied with council duty.

Thankfully though, Kun is a free man every Thursday, so Sicheng is allowed to drag him off to every nook and cranny of South Korea.

They take off from the classroom with Sicheng clutching onto the older's wrist tightly, earning curious glances from some of their classmates. The younger male dismisses all of them, only delights in Kun's presence, a smile gracing his plump lips.

"Where are you taking me to? "

"You'll find out soon, " Sicheng replies gleefully, turning back to look at Kun.

When the younger looks away, Kun begins to panic internally, cheeks flaring up because of the adoring way Sicheng had looked at him, and how the younger's hand was firm around his thin wrist. Walking through the hallway was nerve-wrecking, doing too many numbers to Kun's pounding heart—Sicheng has grey almost silver eyes, and somehow the older finds himself wanting to look into them for as long as they he lives.

Kun isn't supposed to feel this way.

He knows who Dong Sicheng is, and the older finds himself unwilling to be fooled by the many facades the younger male puts up.

 

 

"This is—"

"你干嘛带我到夜市? "* Kun shoots him a quizzical look, but the younger only lets out a tinkling laughter, waving him off. The streak of silver reveals itself to Kun again, catching the older's attention with it's earnest shimmer. It sets the older's heart aflame, cooing silently at how real Sicheng's happiness seemed, radiating off his youthful face.

Everything feels so real: Kun's heartbeat and Sicheng's smile.

He wishes that things can stay this way forever, because Sicheng is so precious under the topaz rays of sun, and his genuine smile grows flowers in the once empty garden that is Kun heart.

"Don't you miss the night market in China? " The younger asks, but doesn't wait for an answer. Instead he drags Kun off to the nearest food stall he finds, buying the both of them a lamb kebab each. The older fishes out his wallet, insisting that because he's older, he should be paying. However, Sicheng beats him to it, flashing the old lady tending to the stall a blinding smile and slipping her a couple lose bills.

"I hate you. " Kun fake pouts as he takes the kebab from Sicheng's hand, feeding off the warmth of the younger's hand for longer than he should (fuck discretion, autumn is a cold cold cold affair).

It's cute, the way Kun's soft lips jut out ever so slightly into a pout; the way he looks at Sicheng with his sorta hazel, sorta caramel eyes; the way his voice is airy, and makes Sicheng feel  _things_.

Wait, did he just—

"No, you love me. I bought you food, " Sicheng giggles, slinging an arm around Kun's neck as they walk away from the stall.

He attempts to shut down the thought of Kun. Keyword:  _Attempts_.

"Sicheng! LOOK! " The excited yell catches said man completely off guard. He looks to the direction Kun is pointing at and sees what has sparked the older's exhilaration. A big duck plushie hangs at a game stall, his orange beak, brown eyes and short limbs adding to its cuteness factor.

And then Sicheng is looking at him with lovesick puppy eyes again.

Because Kun works in wondrous ways, and he makes Sicheng breathe in the most zealous ways. There's something about the older, how his smile and his eyes and his voice makes him feel alive—there's no need to put on a show around Qian Kun. The older already knows what kind of person Sicheng is, he's seen through every act, every game—there's no point in trying to when he knows that Kun will just tear his walls down with one single, addicting smile.

Kun is always kind, and never treats him differently from the rest.

"You want it? Then we'll get it, " Sicheng says, determination lacing his voice. He drags the older towards the stall and thrusts a stack of dollars for three balls. It's a classic game of toppling the cans. A pyramid of nine cans stand tall and taunting, but the younger is bent on winning that stupid duck for Kun after seeing the hopeful look in eyes.

He can already see Kun cuddling up into that giant duck.

_Oh. My. God._

The first toss has him missing the damn cans by a bare centimeter, the second isn't any better.

Kun can sense the frustration burning in Sicheng, and he can't help but chuckle quietly to himself because he's never seen the younger (with the coolness and nonchalance of the world) so worked up over a big fluffy duck.

And it's all for him.

Sicheng also loses his chance with the last ball, whining when it only knocks down the top three cans. When he turns back to look at the older, there's an upset look set with a furrow of his brows. Kun only reaches up to ruffle his blonde hair to try and comfort him.

"It's ok, hyung's gotcha. "

He pays for two tries this time because he has a feeling that Sicheng might want that ' _stupid, big fluffy duck_ ' as much as he does. So Kun isn't really any better than the younger when it comes to athletics and aiming balls at stacked up cans, but he manages to knock down a whole pyramid of them on the fourth throw. One duck down, one more to go.

Now, he has two more balls (what a mathematical genius) and an undying ambition of getting a second plushie gnawing on him. The first throw sums up to nothing. It didn't hit any of the cans at all, leaving Kun with a tinge of disappointment.

Before he can pick up the last ball, Sicheng beats him to it and snatches it up, hurling the yellow ball towards the pyramid of cans. Kun only stands there, amidst the windy shivers the autumn brings about, and watches as all the cans topple onto the wooden tabletop.

Something in him trembles, watching the cans fall to the ground, watching Sicheng cause them to collapse—something inexplicable eats into Kun's heart.

He only recalls hugging two giant soft toys and Sicheng buying them fried Oreos and a bubble milk tea to share.

Sicheng says something that sounds a lot like 'sun's going down', feeds him an Oreo, and Kun isn't sure why he's suddenly feeling so out of it. They walk home anyways, leaving behind the noise and liveliness of the market, making small talk on the way.

 

 

"思成, 你知道吗? 你不是一个好的演员。"**

Kun all but places a light kiss to the corner of the younger's lips, leaving Sicheng spinning in confusion, a blush burning furiously up the nape of his neck and on his face. It's his way of thanking the younger for his fun company, and perhaps for showing Kun a different side to him.

"Hyung? " When he recovers from the initial shock, he finds the older already walking away towards the opposite direction, book bag slung over one shoulder and his unoccupied hand clutching onto the plushie's hand tightly. He doesn't know what it's supposed to mean, the kiss and the words the older left for him. Still, he snuggles into his own duck and sees Kun doing the same.

The only thing he's certain about as he watches Kun stray further away from him, is that Kun is too good for this world.

He is also too good for Sicheng.  _Especially_   _Dong Sicheng._

But Kun is (rather surprisingly) in love with a boy.

And he's not just any boy. He's his first love—he's Dong Sicheng, Pretty, popular Dong Sicheng with the unwavering grey eyes that seem to bore straight into Kun's heart.

(Sicheng doesn't have to know.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kudos+comments appreciated  
> follow me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/fairylxst) for updates !
> 
> *why did you bring me to a night market
> 
> **sicheng, do you know something? you are not a good actor.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sicheng grows onto his feelings a little too much

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> zero proofread whoops

 

 

❝  _WHEN I'M WITH YOU, DANGER SEEMS LIKE A GOOD THING_  ❞

 

 

"Numero uno, you aren't allowed to eat in the school library. " Kun tugs the lollipop out of Sicheng's mouth gently, bringing a finger up to wipe off the trail of sugar he had accidentally smudged against the younger's lower lip. He moves to the bin at the corner to dispose the candy only to come back to the exact same scene he left earlier. This time though, Sicheng has a shit-eating grin on his face, playful glint in his blue eyes as if he isn't holding someone by the collar against the bookshelf.

"Two, you know that's still counted as harassment, right? " He points at the poor boy struggling against Sicheng's steel grip, cheeks flushed an indignant red. Kun looks on with a commiserative sigh—so that gawky, creepy kid may have confessed to Kun in the most stalkerish, forceful and awkward manner, but still, there was nothing to hold against him.

The library is oddly silent for a lunch break on Wednesday. Even the boy who has unknowingly fallen into the vicious hands of Sicheng is quiet, save for the small whimper that escapes from the back of his throat when the latter balls up his fist.

"Dong Sicheng, put him down, " Kun orders with much more authority in his voice now, going as far as to glare at him disapprovingly. Being friends with Sicheng and being a student councilor at the same time is two things he should have never put together.

Alas, there he is at a corner of the library no student would ever visit unless they were trying to skip classes, squeezing Sicheng's thin wrist in his hold as a warning, watching as the younger finally released his grip on the other kid. The boy fell to his knees immediately, choking out a week cough while rubbing his sore neck.

Sicheng only huffed, albeit cruelly. 

 _Things fall into place so easily_ , Kun thinks as he throws one last glance at the student before letting Sicheng drag him out of the library.

"I still have to write you a pass for eating in the library, " is the only thing Kun has to say.

At that moment, Sicheng cannot decide whether Kun is angry or thankful. He doesn't push it though, just tightens his hold on the older's hand and ignores the questioning stares directed their way. People are always so intruding, wanting to know more about what's going on with the school's heartthrob and the introverted student council. Some even marvel at the insanity of their unlikely friendship.

Oh, Sicheng  _knows_.

He knows of the secret stash of notes that lie weakly in the darkness of Kun's lockers, threatening him to keep his distance from the younger. Telling the older to stay away from Sicheng as if they'd own the latter's existence (jealous fangirls, Sicheng is thoroughly amused).

He also knows of that one letter, written in poorly structured Chinese: 你是我离远思成的。

Sicheng's pretty sure it was meant to come off as more menacing if not for the grammatical errors. What irked the younger most was the fact that said person aimed to lay his damn claims on Kun as if he was an object to be owned. It was an abysmal attempt, and failed to humor Sicheng at all.

There's something sick that twists Sicheng's guts up—without doubt, the work of a little dash of jealousy.

Because Kun is too pure to fall into anyone's hands, not Sicheng's, not that boy in the library.

(But Sicheng still wants him—it feeds his carnal desire, knowing that perhaps he may taint the innocence that is Kun, and ruin him for all that he is worth.)

"Sicheng, that hurts. " All of a sudden, the younger is snapped out of his reverie by Kun's retracting hand. Noticing the red imprints of his nails previously being dug into the older's golden skin, he mumbles an apology sheepishly. Though Kun quickly dismisses it, he doesn't miss the weird look in Sicheng's eyes—mysterious, shrouded in a dark light amidst the buzz of the school hallways.

 Kun has the most darling of smiles, love struck hazel eyes.

Sicheng internally malfunctions and forgets what he's supposed to feel.

 

 

* * *

 

 

"No one expects any less from you, Nakamoto. " Sicheng pushes the cola sucker past the plush confines of his lips. Hansol lights a cigarette.

Yuta flicks ash off his white jersey and rolls his eyes, looking unbearably done with his group of friends: "Easy for you to say, Little Miss Sunshine. "

The blonde narrows his eyes at the Japanese, his lour, murderous—he hates that stupid nickname, it sounds like something a seven year old kid would tag to their stuffed toy—there is threat in his eyes, and Yuta knows he's in for a good beating. However, Sicheng surprisingly backs down not a moment later, and he realizes that it is because of their leader's presence (made known by the loud bang the leader makes when he slams their ramyeon down on the foldable table) that forces the younger to shrink back into his plastic chair.

Their leader is pink-haired with cherry lips and crystal eyes; Lee Taeyong is a remarkable man, considering how he runs a gang piled up with uncivilized barbarians and never falters in the face of adversity.

Sicheng thinks he's better though, considering how his resting bitch face game is stronger than Taeyong's.

(He is also more irrational. And unlike Taeyong, he never considers diplomacy.)

"Shut up and eat, you asshats, " pink hair barks, and Hansol snorts. Ji Hansol is the oldest in the gang, and no one can tell him what to do; he's hellish and devilish, and his younger brother, Kun's, complete opposite.

"What the fuck's with you angsty little boys? " Yuta retorts, only to be ignored by everyone else. It's kinda hilarious, for Yuta had a spine-chilling aura naturally radiating off him when he passes people in the school hallways, but he was always being clowned in the gang.

It exceeded Sicheng's expectations. He wouldn't have dared to imagine associating himself with this bunch of people. On his first day, he remembered being alone and unsure and unbashfully depressed. It was Yuta who approached him, with all the wintry air and aloofness that Sicheng had somehow came to fear, told him: "Come sit with us, you seem decent. "

Decent was apparently a big word in Yuta's dictionary, according to Kun.

(Also, according to Kun, the fearsome Nakamoto Yuta wouldn't stop raving about how adorable Sicheng was.)

"What are you laughing at, Sicheng? " Hansol asks, eyeing said boy with verdict.

Then there's Hansol. Silent, judgemental Ji Hansol, with big, doll-like eyes that seem to stare straight into the fucking windows of your soul. First time impressions, as Sicheng had came to know thanks to the older boy, were important because they revealed one's personality. Which was why, Sicheng worked hard to suppress his feelings, and instead channeled them into violence.

Weakness of a man was not tolerated, it was too much of a vulnerability for someone who sat so high in the social rankings. Sicheng had everything he needed to rise rapidly in the social circle—he was good-looking and favored for his mannerism, minus the usual tendency to press someone against the bright red lockers in the school hallways just to release a little tension.

People choose to look past it though.

Dong Sicheng is perfect, not a flaw.  

"Nothing, " he sings, but his mind deviates to Qian Kun (strawberry blonde hair and the likes), and a small smile spreads across his face.

"You're an open book, Sicheng. " He scorns in response to Hansol, but the older goes on to name the one person that shouldn't be crossing the plains of his mind, but is. It's a shameless, indulgent thought—he shouldn't be ruminating on the nature of Hansol's younger brother in such a tempting manner (like how he really really wants a taste of Qian Kun's sun-kissed skin).

Qian Kun is all kinds of things: pure delight and pretty face; his lips are candy red and Sicheng finds himself wanting to kiss the hell out of the older more than he should; eyes dulcet, yet fiery enough to melt his heart—

Qian Kun is all kinds of things.

Except, he isn't Sicheng's.

(It's a little dangerous that Kun makes his heart beat when he's dead inside. However when they are both in that detention room and his breath is radiant against Kun's neck, danger seems like a good thing.) 

 

 

When he closes in on the house, the first thing he takes note of is Renjun sitting at the dining table doing his work. It's all fine, until he opens the front door and the shouting hurls itself into his face. Then their mother's favorite porcelain vase topples over and shatters into a million unfixable pieces—their mother points a finger at Renjun and begins screaming. Sicheng notes the way his younger brother visibly shivers in the midst of it all, eyes glued to the table and head lowered till he is certain the younger's neck is bent. 

He hears his name and Renjun's, again—his father's voice echos much too loudly in his ears. It pisses him off when his mother shoots Sicheng down with a glare and labels him useless (he already knows, he doesn't need another fucking reminder), but he reluctantly keeps his mouth tightly shut, locking every pang of disappointment and melancholy inside his already crumbling heart.

Renjun looks up to him with bloodshot eyes, and it's all it takes for Sicheng to push past their parents and drag the younger boy upstairs with him.

Their family is fucked up, and it reminds him of how much he hate his life.

"Injunnie, were you hurt? " Sicheng's voice barely exists, but Renjun catches on and shows him both his arms. There are harsh streaks of red littering the pale skin, and as he caresses the younger's wounds, Renjun's tears pour out unconsciously.

"Oh, Renjun. " His heart bleeds, it really does, but all Sicheng can do is pull his younger brother close to him and envelope Renjun into a tight hug. All he can do for Renjun is comfort him with white lies and tell him,  _baby, I'm always going to be here for you._

( _Renjun, I'm not forever, and neither are you._ )

He lets Renjun cry his heart out (Sicheng has no more tears left to cry). Afterwards, they switch on the fairy lights in the room and play some soothing music to drown out the chaos downstairs. Sicheng treats his wounds under the blinking lights, and Renjun holds his calloused hand as Sicheng tucks him into one side of his bed.

For a moment, Renjun smiles at him and attempts to blink his tears back:

"Please don't leave me. " His voice is faint, tinted with sadness and desperation. Sicheng thinks it's heartbreaking that a fourteen year old has to live in fear of everything. He'd lived through such times of fear too, except he had no older sibling to care for him. Now that he is all grown up, however, he knows that he is the lie living for his younger brother so that Renjun can hide among playgrounds and school bells.

It is difficult, but for both their sake Sicheng shall carry on and remain, even though he is all that is left of yesterday.

"I won't, " he promises, and brushes away a stray strand of hair from Renjun's face.

Renjun takes it as it is, and shuts his eyes.

For the first time in a week, Sicheng feels like he's about to be torn apart inside out. It hurts so fucking bad, but he doesn't know where—can't douse the flame where it is burning the brightest and turning him into grey specks of ash. He wishes for a hand to hold, to squeeze tight, to take this unfathomable pain away from him.

Unconsciously, he pictures slender fingers and sun-kissed skin.

 

 

* * *

 

 

(Don't try to fix me, I'm not broken.)

"Hey, you there with the eyes. " Kun acknowledges Sicheng's presence playfully when the latter is standing at the door of the detention room. The younger grins like a Cheshire in response, albeit giddy, running a hand through his faded blonde hair. It amazes Sicheng, the effect Kun has on his mood. He kinda recalls feeling like shit for the past twenty-four hours of not seeing Kun except the older's back during calculus.

That's a dramatic explanation, of course.

Basically Kun's happiness just happens to be very contagious, and while the younger typically avoids being elated by anything to pursue a full time career in the department of being A Slightly Depressed Seventeen Year Old, he really can't help himself around Kun.

 _Unfortunate_.

"Hope you didn't miss me too much, babe. " The wink Sicheng sends at Kun's direction is innocently flirtatious (as if, these two words never go together). He only waves the younger away and tells him to prepare for one hell of a boring ride, and Sicheng blatantly responds with a  _but you're on show._

"You're unbelievable, Dong Sicheng. I'm right here, so tone down the puppy love shit. " It's Ji Hansol (obviously, he's so anti everything. No wonder Yuta chose to date everyone else except sad little Ji Hansol, still stuck in his awkward crush phase) much to his luck, and he's found himself a nice spot at  _Sicheng's_  corner of the room, poetry book in hand.

 _What a bitch_ , he muses.

"Who'd you beat up this time? " Hansol briefly looks to Sicheng's side when he flops onto the seat nearest to the older.

"No one, I got a ticket for eating in the library, " Sicheng chuckles.

"That's literally the dumbest thing you could get caught for, " Kun butts in from where he sat, right at the front of the classroom. Sicheng raises an eyebrow, intrigued, as if Kun opening his mouth to talk is the most fascinating happening on earth. 

"You say that as if you weren't the one who pulled the lollipop out of my mouth and wrote me a ticket to detention. "

It isn't anymore helpful that Kun's golden frames are sliding down the defined bridge of his small nose and showing off his light brown eyes that dazzle beneath the sunlight.

"Too bad, darling. " Kun flicks an eyebrow up as if to prove his point.

It's so fucking magnificent, Sicheng thinks he can ditch his invisible crown for Qian Kun any time of the day in a mere heartbeat.

(Sicheng is not in love with Qian Kun.)

Hansol continues to read 'milk and honey'.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kudos+comments appreciated!  
> follow me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/fairylxst) for updates !
> 
> also y'all this book's chaptered so save it in your bookmarks


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> kun contemplates who the hell sicheng is, and he realizes he is all of them at once—violent, fake, hurt—god be damned.

 

 

❝  _IT'S BETTER TO BE HELD THAN HOLDING ON_ ❞  

 

 

The thing about life is that there is no ticket out of life (even death itself is not considered a quit button, there is life after death— _your_  responsibility to carry on living is simply shouldered by someone else), only the option to run: Run faster than life can catch up to you, run further away from your problems. That's what Sicheng learns over the years. He runs and runs and runs. 

Except his life catches up to him faster than he can escape its clutches. 

It's the only thing he has ever known, been doing it since he was seven, and he doesn't plan on stopping. Even if his feet grow tired and he races against time, losing each strand of youth each time he picks himself up and just  _runs._  

He has no brake function in his feet, he will never stop.

Not until he is sure that he is safe from the treacherous claws of his parents.

This house of deceits and deceptions—with its perfectly structured grey brick walls and clean glass windows—sits in the privileged side of the city, primed, posh and full of secrets. Everyone thinks that the Dong family is perfect, constructed out of the most flawless family portraits and doll-like faces. But Sicheng is part of the sinister happenings that occur through the floral curtains; he sees things that nobody else sees.

Which is why he chooses to dash out of the house and onto the empty road, his wrist bleeding, Renjun crying on the front porch (he is thirteen, Sicheng is eighteen, but the world doesn't stop spinning to consider that they are only children). From a distance, Sicheng can hear his father swearing and shouting at him: 你这个混蛋! 我不想见到你的脸, 你最好不要踏进这个家!

When Sicheng was younger, he would've cried and begged for his father's forgiveness, hoping that the whole ordeal of his father shouting at him and hitting him would never occur again—

He doesn't cry now.

(Because his father would never love him and his mother would never stand up for him. Sicheng grows up much too fast, with the face of a boy and the heart of a man who bears uncountable scars. The world is not made for him, and he is not made for the world.)

So Sicheng flees—the wind catches itself in his blonde hair and dries his tears faster.

(Because life works in indescribable ways; life is a game, and Sicheng is its pawn. He is forced to play a game he cannot break free from, where his weak, humanistic instinct tells him the only way out is to run.)

Sicheng runs without direction. Along the way, a hand extends itself out to him, tempting him to follow it. Without a single thought, Sicheng grabs it and follows where the wind takes them.

 

 

Sicheng loves the rain.

But Kun is the sun—glimmering hope, gold-streaked eyes—and Sicheng is left helpless as he stumbles onto the older's front porch. His shirt is soaked through because of the rain that he had braved in order to get to Kun, and his wrist burns as rainwater slides down the open cuts. The whites of his eyes are red no thanks to the occasional drop of rainwater that falls from his blonde hair.

Suddenly, the question of ' _why the fuck is he even here'_  strikes him. He doesn't want Kun to see him like this: Physically and mentally messed up. The older definitely does not deserve the added burden of Sicheng's troubled self, but his heart says otherwise with its clamorous longing for Kun's company.

Also, the older boy is sure to reprimand him for walking under the rain and getting himself wet.

The front door opens even before Sicheng knocks on it, and the younger is met by the disapproving look Kun shoots at him without hesistation. He reacts fast enough to offer the older boy a sheepish grin, awaiting the lecture that is sure to come.

(The mere sight of Kun makes his heart flutter, and he momentarily forgets the hurt that he had tried to escape from.)

Kun is silent for awhile, eyes scanning the younger from head to toe, mouth forming an unreadable thin line. Sicheng is even more sure now that he's in for a good scolding.

Yet, what comes is not the nagging that he had expected, but a small, concerned voice that only says his name. Kun tumbles into Sicheng's arms not a second later, eyes wet and voice a little shaky when he calls for the younger continuously.

"Hyung, " Sicheng only manages a whisper through his shock, wondering whether it is even appropriate to hold Kun closer to him. But Kun is already crying softly into his chest, fingers gripping tightly at the material of his shirt—Sicheng's heart starts thumping heavily against his ribs, and in that moment, everything seems dreamlike. The rain falls melodically outside the porch, Kun's body is warm against his own, and Sicheng realizes that he really just wants to sink into the older's embrace and disappear.

Kun trembles as the younger boy wraps his arms around him, feeling Sicheng press him closer to his body, where Kun can almost hear the heavenly beat of Sicheng's heart.

The tears cannot stop running down his cheeks no matter how hard Kun tries to will them away. He is haunted by the image of Sicheng, coped up in the dark of his room, holding a blood-laced blade to his wrist. When the younger slides the sharp edge against his skin, Kun's heart twists excruciatingly and the air in his lungs fall short.

"Promise me, Sicheng. " It falls from his lips without warning. A choked sob—pathetic, aimless—Kun knows it'll do nothing to heal the wounds in Sicheng's heart. He isn't even sure what he wants the younger to promise him:  _Promise me you'll never leave? Promise me you'll never suffer alone in your misery?_

Sicheng himself wants to ask 'promise you what?', but he's too taken in by how Kun's body fits in his like pieces of puzzles that are made for each other. He wants to know whether Kun has always been the one part of his heart he has lost and found; wants to know whether Kun is the ray of sun that will light up his rainy days, and chase the gloomy clouds away.

(As much as Sicheng loves the rain and Kun, he can only choose either one. For the rain cannot exist together with the sun.)

Its Sunday, five twenty-six in the evening, and a month since Sicheng met Kun when the younger realizes there is one thing (or person) he cannot bring himself to run away from.

His name is Qian Kun. He has the most enchanting of smiles, love struck hazel eyes.

And Sicheng knows they both are very unfortunately falling too fast.

 

 

"Hold still, Sicheng, " Kun chastises motherly, dabbing the chlorhexidine-soaked cotton wool against the scars on Sicheng's wrist. The younger winces with every cool touch of the wool, struggling to force his focus on the consoling circles Kun draws into his skin with the other hand. The blood has long dried, but the older insists that he washes the dirt around the wound to prevent any infection, and Sicheng can't find it in himself to protest.

The blonde watches as Kun works. The kitchen lights give off a soft yellow glow, there's a tub of finished ice cream laying beside Sicheng, and the seven o'clock news is playing on the TV in the living room. Everything in this house is peaceful, an underappreciated appeal Sicheng has long been searching for in his own house. Even as Kun sits on the tall stool, unstyled hair falling before his eyes, and brows furrowed in deep concentration, Sicheng appreciates the loveliness to it. And he can't help but let his grey eyes linger longer than they should on the older.

 Kun's mocha eyes flicker up to meet Sicheng's charcoal ones, and his breath hitches just for a second:

"You're making me nervous. " 

Sicheng raises a brow at the older's sudden confession, finding it silly but adorable all the same.

"It's my pleasure and duty to make your heart flutter just as you do, mine. " There's a mischievous smirk forming on Sicheng's face, and all Kun finds himself doing is blush a fiery shade of pink, ears heating up at the younger's sudden wave of confidence.

"Did you just confess to me? "

 _Kun is a dummy_ , is what comes to Sicheng's mind. He doesn't voice it out, just teases with the corner of his lips settled into a coy smile, grey eyes twinkling as if they've never known darkness.

"Oh, _darling_. "

The honorifics are dropped just like that as Sicheng brings Kun's face closer to his with the hand that isn't being held down to the table. His breath is hot, fanning against the honey skin of the older's neck, plush lip caught between his teeth as he stares hungrily at the cherry of Kun's lips. He freezes just before his lips brush against the older's, suddenly afraid that he might be rushing into things too fast. Afterall, Kun will always be fragile in his eyes, a prized possession to be cared for tenderly and carefully. Sicheng is anxious that if he takes what he wants so recklessly, he might end up hurting the older.

But Kun has picked up the ways by which Sicheng lives, he in his own ways is rash and jumps into the bandwagon too quickly. It is he who seals their lips together in one critical move and steals the air from the younger's lungs.

Kun's parents are outside at the living room watching the seven o'clock news, and here Sicheng sits, kissing both heaven and hell out of their son.

(Kun tastes so fucking good that Sicheng thinks it should be a sin to go for seconds, but the latter gives zero fucks about sinning when he's already burning in hell.)

When they separate, there's an obscene string of saliva that connects both their glazed lips. Kun giggles (he outright giggles, how dare he do this to Sicheng's heart), bringing his finger up to wipe it off.

"Hey, " he says with renewed energy, heart soaring sixty feat in the sky at the sight of the younger.

"Hey, just wanna say we should take this to your bedroom. "

The bold statement earns a playful smack from Kun, and Sicheng breaks into a goofy smile as he threads his fingers with the older's own. Kun feels more home to him than he has ever felt in the past eighteen years of his life, and he prays that they'll never let go of each other.

"You promise, right? "

"Yes. "

Kun doesn't even know what he's promising Sicheng.

(He thinks it's fucking unfair that the world should turn its back on Sicheng, and leave the poor boy to rot in his own personal hell.)

 

 

* * *

 

 

Sicheng graces the hallways with the presence of his blinding smile, long legs striding gallantly to his own rhythm, Louis Vuitton backpack slung over a shoulder—a definite symbol of his status. This is his place—everyone turns their head and watches him stride in his electrifying grace. They are in awe and want to be what they cannot become; they worship him, and he acknowledges the crushing power he wields with every step he takes.

He holds his head high among social standings he isn't worthy of, his honor worth more than the brutality of his fate.

Kun knows, he knows that Sicheng wears a mask of painted gold. He also knows that behind that mask Sicheng is faceless, his identity long lost to the whirlwind of collective stereotypes.

So Sicheng is Gucci, Armani and Prada. 

He is Tom Ford and Hermes and Chanel.

He looks too high up and threads down the runway—Kun looks on, he watches as Sicheng collapses to his knees and his play pretends fall apart. All of sudden, he doesn't seem to belong among the stars anymore. The celestial skies close the golden gates to heaven on him; they do not let those who are filled with poison contaminate the saintliness of the garden of Eden. So they force him to remain, anguished, lost among the stars as he looses her own glower slowly but surely, the purity he previously fed on stolen from him.

He crashes down to the earth, burns out much too fast just like a shooting star.

(Sicheng isn't special. He's nobody pretending to be  _somebody_.)

However, these things are only revealed to Kun behind turned backs and closed eyes. When they are alone together and Kun observes the younger from a side. Sicheng dances lightly on his feet thinking he is free, but then he trips and crumples to the ground in affliction (Kun wonders whom it is from), turns to look at the older—

and where Kun imagines a face of despair, he sees nothing instead.

No one will believe Kun when he whispers to them lowly that Sicheng is not who he seems to be. The latter's arms are bruised, full of cuts that ooze his dismay for every time he has failed to protect Renjun from their own parents; for all the times he has smiled, trying so damn hard to lie to himself about how everything will be okay; for all the times he is frightened and he cannot breathe, and all he does is drown in his despondency.

This is what he knows, and what he has seen:

Bad blood circulating through his veins, ultraviolence glinting in his hungry eyes—Sicheng's torment and indignation drains him until all that he is left with, is bitterness.

So he crashes and burns—a force to be reckoned with—straight into Kun's heart, straight into the deepest pits of Hell.

He sings with a small voice, _let it burn, let us all be damned_ , walks down the abandoned alleyways with a broken bottle of soju, thirsting for blood, flaunts his pain, and turns his fear to dust and rage. 

He strides down the school hallways like a god, rich, smart, handsome,  _perfect._

Small smile—hidden, almost fake.

And Kun wonders why no one else notices.

(Because Sicheng is too good at it, and Kun, unbeknownst, is even better at it.)

But why should it all matter, when Dong Sicheng, king of it all, seeks refuge in the older's house. With a broken heart, he holds onto Kun's hand, and awaits for the kindness that shall put his heart back together. Here, they are no one, just two teenage boys riddled by the world's savagery, seeking answers (and salvation) from each other.

"Can we skip school tomorrow? "

"Absolutely not, Sicheng. "

"Can I kiss you then? "

"Please do. "

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

And from Kun's cherry blossom-tinted lips, Sicheng drew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm back !!! and then i'll be ghosting this story again cause of exams heh  
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/fairylxst)
> 
> kudos+comments appreciated :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> kun and sicheng have met a dead end, and thus comes the end of a love that was not meant to be.

 

 

❝  _YOU'RE NOT REAL AND YOU CAN'T SAVE ME_  ❞

 

 

"Give me it. " Sicheng snatches a stick from the pack in Yuta's hand, lighting it up between clenched teeth. Hansol watches from the far end of the room, a bemused look on his face. One that Sicheng doesn't miss nor appreciate. The table separating them is piled high with half-empty soju bottles and empty snack wrappers. Sicheng's pretty sure that when Taeyong sees this, he's going to blow up a huge fuss.

"Rough day? " Yuta asks, practically clueless about the tension brewing between both ends of the room. The youngest glances at him, taking a puff out of his cigarette:

"It's rough all over. "

He slumps back onto the couch (Taeyong's couch, they are so fucked), a soft groan leaving his lips, cigarette between his fingers. He wonders how long it has been since he's had a smoke, because it feels like eons to him; eons since he's fallen back so hard, drowning his sorrow in bottle after bottle of soju.

"You, " Hansol suddenly speaks up, dark gaze directed at the youngest. "You were with Kun last Sunday weren't you?"

The cigarette between Sicheng's fingers dangles loosely, threatening to fall on the couch and set it on fire anytime. It's probably the alcohol doing its thing to Sicheng, the one where it makes him feel lightheaded and free, like he can do anything in this world and suffer from no repercussions. Because today is today, and tomorrow is tomorrow; today's mistakes can be forgotten today, and carried on tomorrow when Sicheng is sober enough to brood over his stupidity.

And thus begins a destructive cycle that he has already subjected himself to.

"Is that any of your concern? " It's the alcohol, Sicheng swears. It's the way they flow so gratifyingly in his body, rushing through his veins, unrestrained—an urge that drives him, yelling in his ears so loudly until he thinks he might go deaf.

Sicheng is beginning to sound like an alcoholic.

"That's my younger brother we're talking about here. If anything, it should concern me the most that you are hanging around him, " Hansol says, the darkness clouding his eyes never dispersing. Sicheng acknowledges the fact that he has a shitty personality and isn't the best person for Kun, a rather model student, to befriend. They probably would have never ended up this way if the younger did not persistently force his presence upon the student councilor.

But he wants what he cannot have. He is Dong Sicheng, perfect, yet too flawed; he fears nothing, yet he keeps running away. He is Dong Sicheng, and then he isn't. He wants what he cannot have: He wants to cradle Kun's heart in his hands like it's one of the seven wonders of the world, he wants to treat it with care and nurture Kun's love into a blossoming flower. But he is Dong Sicheng, and he is also selfish. He loves and loves and loves until it hurts.

Kun will get hurt under his oppressive affections, and that's not something Sicheng ever wants to witness in his life.

"I'll start considering your right to worry over Kun 哥 when you start going home. "

But Sicheng is selfishly in love with Kun.

"You sure have the nerve to talk back to me this way. " Hansol is already on his feet, eyes set into a hard glare as he walks towards Sicheng. The latter knows he's going to get it, and Hansol's punches are anything but soft.

"I only spoke the truth. "

Yuta watches on with unimpressed eyes.

(Sicheng deserves getting beaten up by Kun's older brother for what he's about to do to Kun anyways.)

 

 

* * *

 

 

Kun really detests the sun. It trickles into the detention room and illuminates its state of isolation, reminds Kun of his loneliness lingering stubbornly in every corner of this goddamned room; loitering around his vacant heart.

His right hand unconsciously goes up to graze against his chapped lips, mind flickering to the memories of last week when Sicheng had kissed him so passionately in his parent's kitchen, in his own bedroom. The recollection replays itself over and over again, determined to imprint in his being the way Sicheng's glossed lips had felt against his own until Kun's survival depended on it—breath hitched, Kun wonders whether Sicheng is kind enough to lick his lips and bite down on it until he's bruising.

(He also detests the way Sicheng makes him feel. Up until now he had been so sure he was only interested in Sicheng as a friend. However, the younger has fed Kun too much detrimental desire till his blood is singing for his every touch, till he's too far up in heaven to even fall back down.)

Kun waits but Sicheng doesn't show up in that small dusty room. The list he holds in his hand is empty, and so is his heart. So Sicheng has been courteous enough not to cause Kun too much trouble for fear of harming the student councilor's reputation even more. Yet, Kun wishes he did. Kun also wants Sicheng to mess him up so much until there's no way he's going back to wherever the hell anymore. Maybe the younger should announce to the whole school (as if it isn't obvious enough with the endless amount of hand holding and making out  _somewhere_ ) that they're dating so that Kun's good boy reputation can be tarnished—pollute Kun's lungs with his second-hand smoke, poison him with an intoxicating kiss—destroyed by Sicheng's hands that were made for devastation.

He lets his head run wild on seventy-two percent worth of nitrogen and eighteen on Dong Sicheng. It goes on like that for an hour—Qian Kun thinks of him when the room is empty and sits beneath the sun's glare, collecting dust. His duty doesn't end until five, so he sits and waits for the time (and hopefully Sicheng) to while itself away, thinking of Sicheng's missing silhouette more than he ever should. 

It's fifteen minutes to five when Sicheng strolls in. He doesn't have detention as far as Kun recalls, however he only notices how there is a certain hollowness to Sicheng's eyes that is by far settling.

"Kun 哥, follow me somewhere, " Sicheng states, sounding exhausted. Kun's immediate reaction is to tug Sicheng closer to where he is seated by the wrist, ignoring the dumbfounded look on the younger's face. He runs a delicate finger down the underside of his arm, letting go of the sigh he had unknowingly kept in his chest when his thumb brushes against the dried up scars on Sicheng's wrist.

Kun's relief is overwhelming. He nestles his head into the warmth of Sicheng's welcoming body heat, seeking comfort from the frigid lashings of the late autumn.

"Where? " He mumbles into Sicheng's black Trasher shirt.

"I want to get a tattoo. "

That sounds like an impetuous move, Kun reckons. He wants to oppose and remind Sicheng that the school doesn't call for ink on skin, but the red tinting his eyes is enough to shut Kun up. Commiseration and empathy points are a must in cases such as this.

(Kun's too conveniently benignant to reject a boy who's probably been—scratch that—who had been weeping his heart out because of his shitty condition of life. He just refuses to admit it.)

Sometimes, Qian Kun really does hate his sense of discernment, but nonetheless he grabs his bag and ditches his duty ten minutes earlier than he should (read: total bad boy material).

They do go on to get that tattoo by pulling out some dumb stunt of faking his parents' consent—Sicheng entrusts Kun to draw out a bunch of constellations for the artist to ink onto his wrist where the cuts used to glide against his skin the deepest. It's Kun's symbolization of better days, he hopes that Sicheng, a burnt out shooting star will have his own stars to wish upon. He wants Sicheng to carry this on his wrist as a reminder of Kun.

It's because they're young and dumb, Kun thinks, that he could come up with such daring prepositions. He wants Sicheng, his first love, to remember him until the day they die, he wants to leave his mark on his broken, beautiful boy of the deep dimples and small smiles; crystalline tears and diamond earrings.

Kun tells him that afterwards when they are sitting by the Han river, eating ramyeon from the convenient store that Sicheng occasionally terrorizes with Taeyong and the others.

The night is piercing, nipping at their skin, descending early winter.

"I want to disappear, Kun, to somewhere far away from here where no one can ever find me again. It'll be like I vanished off the surface of this fucking world completely without a single trace. It has to be unreal with eternal spring blooms, and disconnected from society. I'll take Renjun with me and we'll make it on our own. I'll study hard in the day and find work at night so that he can finally be happy, sing to the stars or dance by the coast, " Sicheng admits, voice laced with an admirable determination.

"It'll be difficult on you, Sicheng, " Kun reminds him kindly, hand running through the blonde locks of Sicheng's hair that has been sprawled out on his lap.

"I don't care, Kun, I'll take him anywhere so long as I can see that beautiful smile on his face again, " he whispers, voice so light that it almost gets carried away by the breeze. Their fingers are intertwined, Sicheng's head is propped on Kun's lap, hair falling into his eyes or spread over the older's thigh. His eyes are teary when he spills his heart out to Kun, as if this whole thing has been troubling him for so long that he has shattered under the intense pressure and nothing can hold back his emotions anymore.

Sicheng holds the universe in her eyes, and Kun cannot bring himself to look away from his ethereal beauty. The well-defined face that bathes in the veiled moonlight, the mellow voice that hits Kun deeply, the long legs that are stretched out on the dewy grass, making him seem like a pale cat.

it's an egocentric thought, but Kun wants him. He wants more than he can ever have: He wants to hold Sicheng's hand for a lifetime and beyond, he wants a happily ever after they cannot have; he wants to press feather-like kisses all over his face, and ease the younger's tears away; Kun wants to belong to Sicheng, likewise Kun wants Sicheng to belong to him.

"Then disappear, " he tells the younger, smile reassuring. "Don't come back. Don't ever look back. "

(So then, I can never hold you back, and tie you down. )

Sicheng doesn't catch the way Kun's voice trembles in pain in this dark, dreary night; doesn't see the way a single tear rolls down Kun's flushed cheeks as he bites back a sniffle. It is better this way though, Kun would rather suffer by himself in loneliness and heartbreak than pull Sicheng down into the endless ocean with him.

Kun wants him. He wants more than he can ever have. Afterall, Sicheng is Gucci, Armani and Prada; he is Tom Ford and Hermes and Chanel. He looks up high from the runway, and finds that he belongs among the twinkling stars—endless skies and ocean eyes—while Kun stands beneath Sicheng's feet and continues to be nobody.

(However, when he trips and falls, this time Kun swears upon his life, he will make sure that he is there to catch him. Kun will fearlessly catch a falling star even if he is only human, and he is sure to get hurt trying to save this burning one.)

An entire life surrounded by obsession—Sicheng scours the world for greatness, and Kun is nobody (he croons at Sicheng from beneath his feet). For this is the place of burnt out dreams, this is the place for Kun and Sicheng; a place where there is no 'us', only 'you' and 'I'—in a world where fate cruelly pulls two people who are in love apart, Kun and Sicheng exists to become two separate entities, so close yet still too far apart.

(They are no born soulmates, fate does not write their names together. They are made to become two people who are temporary happenings in each other's lives, who will pass and go like the ever-changing seasons. While Sicheng is Kun's autumn, Kun is Sicheng's spring; Sicheng learns to find disclosure in Kun, and Kun finds the prospects of love in Sicheng.)

It's a selfish thought.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Sicheng doesn't show up for detention after that night.

There is a stray letter in Kun's locker that morning, and it smells fresh, surprisingly like the bitter autumn winds. He tears it open and reads it until he realizes that his warm eyes have been brimming with salty tears that sting his skin when they fall down. His knees go weak when he meets the inexplicable end of the letter, where Sicheng has signed off with ' _I love you_ ' and the promises of a future filled with them.

But Kun finds it hard to convince himself when Sicheng is not there to hold him close to his warm chest and dry his tears. It feels so fake, just like Sicheng.

And Kun finds that he hates the sun so much.

(Because in the end, Sicheng chose the rain over the sun. The two things that cannot exist together, the two things he loved most in his life. Kun came in second to the gloomy rains that have been falling over Sicheng since the beginning of his sad, pathetic life.)

He curses the sun, and his inability to let go of a temporary arrangement.

Now, Qian Kun is the one who saunters around in hidden distaste and bitterness, for there is an unexplainable hole in his heart.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kudos + comments appreciate <3  
> congrats! after so many months of suffering we've all come to the end of the story, the epilogue is more promising i swear!
> 
> twitter


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